


Everything Comes Back To You

by karmelayeah



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Issues, Friends to Enemies, M/M, Pining, Sad Harry, Sad Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-28 20:16:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12614588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmelayeah/pseuds/karmelayeah
Summary: They say the strongest sense that triggers your memories is smell. It’s funny how even with time, some things never really change.The sickeningly dry, metallic scent accompanied by closed fists and torn lips. The sterile odor of disinfectant that was present in those rooms enclosed in white walls and beeping monitors. The sweet smell of hot chocolate, a note, and a mother that wasn’t there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is my first fic. my knowledge of judo is close to 0.1% so im sorry if i described it incorrectly. this is inspired by the heirs btw bc i guess we always gotta feed our own gotdam selves. the title is from niall horan's this town bc he my main bih <3
> 
> this story is sorta a rough draft i may go back and edit some parts so please bear with me.
> 
> many thanks to my beta @hry (who also writes her own fics! go bless yourselves with her work)

They say the strongest sense that triggers your memories is smell. It’s funny how even with time, some things never really change. 

The sickeningly dry, metallic scent accompanied by closed fists and torn lips. The sterile odor of disinfectant that was present in those rooms enclosed in white walls and beeping monitors. The sweet smell of hot chocolate, a note, and a mother that wasn’t there.

“Louis!” Niall waves his hands in front of his face, and he bats it away annoyed. “Stop thinking of other people when I’m around, makes me think you don’t love me anymore,” Niall jokes, making kissy faces next to him.

“What do you want, you twat?” Louis squints his eyes against the sun, pissed that he forgot his sunglasses again.

“You’ve heard, right? That Harry fellow is moving back in town.”

Louis closes his eyes and leans back on his hands, feeling the cold metal of the seat digging into his palms. Of course he’s heard. It’s all anyone talks about. Not that he ever listens to the stupid chatter in this town. “And why do I care?”

“You knew each other, didn’t you?”

Something like that.

 

*  *  *

 

He is made of steel filled with hollow bones and relishes in the feeling of throwing his opponent down with the sheer strength of trained muscles. He wishes life was like a sparring match. It was comforting, the feel of the mat beneath his feet and the sweat beading down his face. When he is on that mat, nothing else matters. His only focus is his opponent. In the end, there would be one winner and one loser. Life, however, did not play by those rules.

“Again!” his father grunted as he stood over him, looking at him with that expression he so often gave. He thinks it’s probably referred to as disappointment. Whatever.

Standing up, he felt his joints crackling with the amount of times his father had thrown him over his shoulder. Louis went back to his sparring stance with a sudden jolt of determination.

He steps closer, closer and sees an opening. Louis grabs the lapels of his father’s gi, eyes interlocking, sweat dripping. He felt his knees buckle by the force of the pull his father had on the cloth on his leg. He tried to pull back,  _ almost there _ , he told himself. It was a tug of war, basically. His father grabbed his belt from behind and threw him on his back onto the mat.

“Aren’t you tired of losing all the time,” his father commented. 

Louis stayed on his back. He sees his father’s retreating figure.

“I’ll see you next week.”

He slams closed fists on the mat in frustration. Losing to his father was by far the very definition of failure. He gets up and drags his body to the showers.

 

*  *  *

 

He tells his chauffeur to drop him off at the nearest convenience store. His body ached in a way it hadn’t in awhile so he figured he deserved a drink.

He liked this place, with its posters of meals they probably reheated in a microwave in the back and the smell—always the smell. He found this shop a long time ago, when the wounds were fresh and his heart wasn’t as cold. Walking up to the counter, a woman smiles at him.

“Two cups, please,” Louis says and hands her the cash. 

She takes it and pushes the buttons on the register. He watches as she pours the thermos filled with that dark and molten liquid, feels the familiar tightness in his chest. She smiles again, handing the two to him. 

“Thank you,” he says and goes to sit on one of the tables set up outside.

Louis knows it’s ridiculous, but he places the other cup in front him like he’s done countless times before and doesn’t bother blowing on it before taking a sip. He likes the burn; he relishes in the physical pain rather than on the part no one ever sees.

Lately, December nights were unforgiving. The wind whipped against his face and left his fingers numb. It wasn’t the cold that bothered him so much. Louis closes his eyes, too exhausted to fight the flash of memories of a night unlike this so many years ago.

Something soft hits the side of his face and he looks down to find a winter glove. 

“Stop trying to be all tough. It’s fucking freezing, and you only look like a dumb ass.” Niall walks up to him and hands him the other pair to put on.

Louis makes a face but puts them on anyway. He feels better.

Niall finally notices the steaming cup sitting across from Louis, and he heaves a sigh. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“What do you mean?” Louis forces a grin. “It’s for you, loser.”

Niall doesn’t seem convinced but pulls back the metal chair to take a seat and starts chatting on about the latest stunt he pulled on his brother. 

Louis laughs; this is why he keeps Niall.

They talk until Niall complains about his balls freezing and says something about Louis having to warm them up for him. The two men get up from their seats and start to walk away from the shop. No one mentions the other cup.

 

*  *  *

He doesn’t see him, but he hears him just as clearly. That laugh. He heard it as soon as he and Niall walked into that pub. What a stupid sound. Bouncing off the grimy walls like an echo of a boy who never seemed to grow up. Usually, Louis preferred spending nights out like this — smelly old bars and too rowdy crowds, rickety stools and drinks that made him forget — all enclosed in a dimly lit atmosphere where no one could recognize his face.

Louis Tomlinson. The sole heir to his father’s fortune. Cocky and overbearing, some would say. A work in progress is what he thought.

He continues to look down at his drink, twirling the straw between his fingers. Niall was off somewhere as soon as they entered the pub. He could hear him from three tables away, still chatting away like he didn’t just down his fifth drink of the night. It was only 11 p.m.

Someone clears their throat from behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. Louis was used this — being approached even when they didn’t know who he was.

“Lou,” the voice says. It’s changed over the years. Deeper, laced with stories he’ll probably never get to hear.

Louis clenches his drink harder.

“You don’t get to call me that.” He still has his back to him, the stubbornness winning over his curiosity of how the years abroad have treated him.

The voice sighs. The scraping of the chair to his left, the warmth of a body suddenly intruding into his personal space.

“Why did you even come back?” Louis asks gruffly, still refusing to look anywhere but at his drink.

“Don’t you think it’s been long enough? When are you going to stop punishing me?”

“You don’t get to decide that!” Louis pushes himself up from the table so quickly his chair falls back, making a loud bang. He sees people looking up at the sound. 

He starts towards the exit and sees Niall get up, ready to leave with him. Louis puts up his hand to stop him from following him out the door. 

Outside, the cold greets him like an old friend. It was too much all at once. He didn’t want to see him. He was afraid. Louis knew that if he looked at him, he’d see  _ her.  _ He was grateful for the dark and the chill that left the streets empty. 

He was so angry still. 

*  *  *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashbacks are gonna be in italics bc im extra and flashbacks are my kink

_Louis remembers running. His legs were burning, feet blistering. He realizes too late that his shoes were not meant for running. His father would make him pay, he knew. Which would it be this time: a rolled up belt, a stick, or his fist? He would dwell on it more later._

_Right now, he needed to run._

_Harry had said he was too late, that too much time had passed. Louis didn’t believe him. Harry had pulled him back; they were stood near a crosswalk. The light was red._

_Louis had pushed Harry’s hands off his jacket. “Don’t touch me.”_

_“Louis,” Harry had said calmly. He hated how he did that all the time. Always tried to be the sensible one._

_The light turned green and Louis didn’t look back._

 

*  *  *

 

Louis stares hard at the papers in front of him. How could this happen? The numbers didn’t add up.

“Mr Tomlinson? You have a visitor.” He hears his secretary say over the intercom.

He looks up just as someone opens the door to his office.

“Father,” Louis says in greeting.

His father’s looming figure approaches his desk and eyes the papers in Louis’s hands. He didn’t look well. He had circles under his eyes, and his skin looked grey.

“You did this, didn’t you?” Louis accuses and stands to shove the papers in front of his father’s face.

His father only stares. “It’s going to be fine.”

“How can you say that? They’re going to arrest you!”

“You should be grateful! I did this for you! I’m handing you everything on a silver platter—all you have to do is take it.”

Louis couldn’t believe this.

“You trained me hard all my life. Never take shortcuts, don’t cheat the system. And here you are, going against everything you’ve ever taught me.”

He sees his father’s jaw clench, but says nothing in reply.

“You’re a hypocrite.”

He hears rather than feels the impact; the graze of his father’s calloused palm over freshly shaven skin. The ring his father never took off leaving a gash on his left cheek. Inhaling through his nose, he swallows it all down.  

Years ago, his father would have never dared to hit him on his face. Always below the collar, on his ribs, never where anyone would see.

“You should fix that before it scars,” his father says before he turns around, slamming the door shut. The frames on his wall shake, the bookshelves tremble like the aftereffects of an earthquake. His father never quite learned how to temper his power, always leaving a mess in the wake of his destructions. 

 

*  *  *

 

Louis walks around his kitchen island and opens the top cabinet where he keeps his boxes of cereal. To anyone else, it would’ve looked like a cupboard meant for a small family. But Louis just really liked cereal, okay? Excessive as it may be, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford it.

  
He looks up at the screen and sees his father stoic and emotionless as ever, being led out of their building and into a police car. Around him, there were flashes of light and too many voices. “CEO of Tomlinson Industries arrested for tax evasion and money laundering—” he takes the remote control from the marble countertop and switches the television off.

For the first time in his twenty four years of existence, he was truly alone. He realizes with a start that he should’ve been more prepared for this. Confused as he was at the sudden dryness in his throat and pounding in his chest. He looks up to his ceiling, blinking fast and willing the liquid traitors to stay where they should. 

_It’s yours now. Don’t disappoint me_ , his father’s voice echoes in his thoughts and even through the phone he could see his expression. He had called him the night before, giving his last instructions and listed important names he should remember. 

He had a meeting today about the upcoming press conference he would have to do as the new CEO, but it wasn’t until a few hours from now. He decides that he can’t stay inside a minute longer, the silence suffocating him and making the place feel lonelier than it should. The cereal could wait another day. 

The streets were packed despite the weather, but he thinks it was a blessing to say the least. With his head down and scarf wrapped around tight, he looked like everyone else on that busy sidewalk. He hurriedly ducks inside the nearest coffee shop, a bell ringing from above announcing his entrance. Great. Louis scans the area for anyone who might’ve recognized him, in case he needed to make a quick getaway. Don’t get him wrong. He wasn’t always this paranoid, but his father’s face was plastered all over the news today. Luckily, no one seemed to even notice him coming in. He hears the overhead bell ring again, and before he could even step aside, the person had knocked right into him from behind.

He sucks in a breath and turns around to apologize, but the words never make it out of his mouth.

Louis freezes. 

His hair was shorter, so much shorter than the last time, back when the hurt could be fixed with easy smiles and whispered secrets—a time that made him feel like maybe he would be okay. He knows now how naïve it was to think that a person could replace the hole that someone else had left inside him. 

Harry starts to smile, and Louis comes back to himself. He notices how his jaw was more defined, a sign of the years that made him grow into a man. But the dimples remind him that he was still only just a boy.

Louis feels his legs move towards the door, getting him out—anywhere but here. 

“Wait!” Harry blocks his hasty retreat with a hand on his chest. He feels the warmth seep into his skin even through the layers. Louis wonders if he realizes that he’s touching him. That he isn’t allowed to touch, not anymore. 

Harry looks down at his hand and pulls it back to his side, guilt clearly written on his face. 

Louis makes a move to get around him; feels his hands start to shake. He needed to get out of here.

“I heard…” Harry says and clears his throat before he continues. “I saw your dad on the news. I’m sorry.”

Now, Louis has had it. How dare he speak to him about his father, like they were old pals that lost touch over the years. That nothing was wrong.  

“What do you want from me?” Louis asks. Because really, he would like to know before he told him to fuck off. 

“Uh... I…” Harry stutters, eyes wide and blinking in surprise. 

“Because the last I recall, I told you I never wanted to see you again. And yet, here you are.” 

“Louis, it’s been years.” Harry sighs in defeat. “Why can’t we just move forward?” 

“I have been. Without you. So leave me the hell alone.” And with that, Louis shoves against Harry’s shoulder and pushes the door open.

The bell rings. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. He could finally breathe again. 

 

*  *  *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because my mans niall deserves his own chapter

Louis gets a text from Niall.

 

_Get yer head out of that perfect ass of yours and come hang out with me._

some of us have actual jobs.

_But I miss ya!!! Stop being a fuckhead I’m coming over_

ok i’ll tell security to block a 5’8 irish man with blue eyes and fake blonde hair

_AWWW I didn’t know you noticed so much about me :*_

 

Louis sighed. There was no getting rid of Niall.

 

Niall is the son of Maura Gallagher and Bobby Horan. His mother, the daughter of the founder of Gallagher Craft Brewery. They were what people in their social circle called “New Money”.

 

Louis first met Niall at the golf club, back when his father had insisted he tag along and start learning the ropes in the business world. They were only on the first hole when Niall had turned and shoved his hand out to him for a shake. Louis had only stared at it, hands staying put in his pockets. Niall had laughed—cackled was more like it—then asked if he wanted a bottle of beer. Not even waiting for a reply, he waves at the caddy and points to the cooler for two bottles.  

 

On the fifth hole, his father had turned to him and in a lowered voice said, “We’re going to lose to them.” Louis had looked up questioningly and his father continued, “We need a connection to the distillery industry.” And somehow, he was supposed to have known what that meant.  

 

Clearly, his father was mad. Louis wasn’t sure what the connection with golf and the distillery industry was, but he knew his father. And he was certain on one thing. Losing was not in his father’s vocabulary. Besides, his instructor taught him a new trick in one of their after school sessions, and he wanted to show off.

 

So Louis had shown off.

 

And Louis’s father was pissed.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” his father had hissed in his ear, clutching his shoulder tightly.

 

Louis hadn’t even gotten a chance to reply before he heard Mr. Horan saying, “Your boy sure knows how to play.”

 

His father laughed. And then pointedly looked straight at Louis.

 

Louis was not in the mood for his father’s squinty eyes directed at him. He was on a roll and he didn't know what the big deal was. 

 

With one last stroke, the ball went straight into the hole.

 

He heard Niall blow a low whistle. Mr. Horan was clapping his meaty hands in delight.

 

“Good game, good game!” Mr. Horan had proclaimed, taking Louis’s hand for a firm shake.

 

Niall clapped him on the shoulder. “My dad sucks at golf, but we should do this again sometime! I’ll have my people call your people.”

 

“You have people?” Louis had questioned.

 

“Hmm. No, but I’ve always wanted to say that.”

 

Louis had laughed.

 

After their game, the four were walking back to the club eager to get out of the blazing heat. His father had tightly clenched his bicep and said, “You were lucky this time, but don’t even fucking think of defying me again.”

 

His face remained neutral. Louis had expected this. From behind, he watched as Mr. Horan had his son in a headlock. Niall was cackling loudly, squirming to get out.

 

Louis had sighed wistfully.

 

The second time he meets Niall however, he hadn’t expected it. He was at home, Mario Kart on the giant screen and controller in his hands.

 

A pounding knock on the door made him look up, Princess Peach dangling off too close to the edge.

 

“Let me in, ya oaf!” Louis smiled involuntarily, already knowing who stood on the other side of his door. He promptly got up and yanked the door open. A fluff of blonde hair rushed right in front of him and into his room.

 

“So I was thinking,” Niall started talking while simultaneously walking backwards facing Louis. “You, me, this case of my family’s famous beer—cool you’ve got Mario on.”

 

Louis hadn’t even _breathed_ yet and Niall was already making himself comfortable on the edge of his bed.

 

“What’re you still doing all the way over there, pal?” Niall waved the controller he’d claimed was apparently his now. “Mario won’t play with himself, if ya know what I mean.” He snickered, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

 

Louis shrugged off the weirdness of the whole situation and went to sit beside the Irish boy who seemed to never stop showing up lately.

 

Five hours later, the two were lying on their backs, packets of crisps strewn about and a box of pizza on the night stand containing only four chewed up bits of crust.

 

Niall abruptly straightened up from his position on the ground and started towards Louis’s desk. Louis paid him no mind and continued staring up at his ceiling. This was a serious food coma he was dealing with. No time to worry about what his new friend was doing. _New friend_ , he’d said to himself. He’d never had that in a while. It was weird. He wasn’t sure if he liked this feeling.

 

“We’ve hit the motherload, people!” Niall exclaimed in excitement.

 

“Who _are_ these ‘people’ you speak of, Niall? I really am starting to get concerned.”

 

Louis turned his head sideways to see what damage Niall had done to his desk. He was holding up a couple of photographs in his left hand and taking photos of it on his phone with his right.

 

“Oi!” Louis got up. “What do you think you’re doing, mate?”

 

Niall had let go of the other photographs except for one. “Who’s this?”

 

Two boys. Arms linked around each other. Toothy smiles.

 

Louis was surprised he still had that photo actually. They were about eleven—and a half—as Harry had always insisted. They’d just finished a game and Louis could not stop laughing that day. Harry had tripped thrice in the two times he was called into the game, but he’d always gotten up and Louis was always there to help get him back on his feet. He didn’t know why Harry bothered with football when he was certain he didn’t even like the sport at all. But he suspected it was because Harry knew Louis loved it. And wherever Louis went, Harry followed. It was just how it was back then.

 

Louis cleared his throat. “Just someone I used to play football with.”

 

“Cool,” Niall replied and dropped the photo onto the rest of the pile.

 

Louis let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

It was then Louis decided that if Niall was going to keep showing up in his life, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> harry's pov

Out of all the days Harry’s phone decided to have an aneurysm, it chose today. He’d woken up an entire half hour later than the time he’d set on that useless piece of metal only to realize that yes, his alarm had never went off. And holy shit, was he going to be late.  He’d only had time to brush his teeth and put on his suit, thanking past Harry that he’d laid it out the previous night, before nearly sprinting out the door.

  
Trying to catch his breath, he pauses and stares up at the towering structure, squinting slightly as the morning sun reflected against the extensive glass paneling. Stray locks of short curls tickled the front of his face as a strong gust of wind blew from behind. They were slightly damp from all the speed walking he’d done to get here and with five minutes to spare. He counts it as a win.

  
He straightens up his suit jacket and determinedly struts forward, pushing the heavy double doors open. Inside, men and women in monotonous black and grey suits walked purposefully in all directions. They seemed to be either pacing around the lobby and talking loudly into their Bluetooth headsets or making a run for the elevators, an endless stream of people piling in and out.

Spotting the reception desk, he walks up and waits for the woman behind the long marble counter to look up from all that busy typing she seems to be fully engrossed in.

Finally noticing his presence, he sees as the receptionist’s eyes grow a little bit wider than normal before she starts batting her eyelashes one too many times.

“Good morning, sir! How may I help you?” Ms. Calder—Harry notices the nameplate clipped to her white blouse—says, plastering on a flirty grin. She sees him eyeing her chest and continues to smile up at him.

Now, Harry regrets ever having eyes because of things like this happening to him.

He coughs uncomfortably and quickly averts his gaze. “Um… I’m here for a meeting on the 28th floor?” he means to say, but it comes out more like a question. Idiot.

“Sure thing sweetheart, I just need a valid ID and for you to sign your name in here.” She points down at the login sheet on the counter in front of him.

Harry quickly hands her his driver’s license and jots down the needed information.

“Would you like me to escort you up?” Ms. Calder offers, smiling coyly.

“I think I can manage from here.”

Harry didn’t want to seem rude, not at all. But he really was running late. He sees an open elevator and squeezes himself into the tight space. He reaches out and presses the button marked 28.

The elevator finally dings open on his floor and he inhales deeply, trying to get some fresh, air conditioned oxygen into his lungs.

Harry locates the room number that was emailed to him last week and promptly pulls on the handle. It was empty, save for a steaming espresso machine and a basket of blueberry muffins right beside it; cups and small plates all neatly arranged on the table against the wall.

 _Strange_ , Harry thinks.

He looks at his watch again to check the time. 9:05 a.m.

Making his way up the row of black leather swivel chairs, he plops down on the one beside the head of the conference table. He taps his fingers impatiently over the glossy varnished wood and looks up as he hears voices walking towards the room.

A man walks in, hair gelled back in a neatly fashion. His suit handsomely tailored to show off his broad shoulders. He’s laughing boyishly; eyes crinkling as he looks to the man following him inside. They seemed like they’d known each other for a while, the other slapping his delicate hand against the man’s beefy shoulder in mock indignation. He had that Adonis look going for him, smooth caramel skin and cheekbones that could cut through glass. Mr. Cheekbones carefully caresses the front of his perfectly coiffed mane, as if it had gone out of place.

It seems as though they haven’t noticed Harry was even in the room, Mr. Muscles now waving his hands animatedly in front of Mr. Cheekbones.

Harry stands and his chair squeaks.

“Oh! You must be Mr. Styles, you’re early!” Mr. Muscles exclaims in lieu of a greeting.

“Harry.” He walks a few paces forward, extending his hand for a shake. “And the email said 9:00 a.m., unless I may have read it wrong…” He was sure it said nine. He’d read it thrice, top to bottom.

“Liam Payne, and you’re right. I’m sorry about that.” He looks sternly at the man who was stood quietly next to him. “ _Someone_ just had to have a smoke this bloody early in the day.”

Mr. Cheekbones rolls his charcoal eyes. “I’m Zayn, and you can ignore Liam. The data we need this morning is still being updated so we gotta wait a few.”

Liam and Zayn worked in the Finance Department. They’d gotten in touch with Stewart & Styles PR two weeks ago, and since Harry was now the head of Media Relations at his father’s firm, they’d assigned him this project as a sort of welcome back from his time overseas.

After the introductions were made, they’d sauntered over to the table and poured themselves a cup. Harry opting out of the muffins, as good as they looked, because he didn’t want to get his fingers all grimy and crumby. He was a professional, after all.

A petite woman with bright purple hair peeks her head inside the room. “I’ve got it!” She waves a bunch of printed papers, clutched in her right hand.

Liam walks over to her and collects the sheets, smoothing them down onto the table.

“Thanks, Perrie.”

“No problem!” And in a whoosh the head of purple hair was gone.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Liam walks over to the chair across from where Harry was sat, Zayn taking a seat to his left.

Once they began, it was Zayn that surprisingly led the conversation. He spoke low and melancholic, but conveyed to Harry that he was well-versed in the company’s financial situation after the scandal had broken out. The data that they had been waiting for was as expected after a sudden hit like that in the media.

“The second statement is as important as the first because you’ve already addressed the issue. We want to show the public that you’ve cut out the virus and your company is ready to move past this disaster,” Harry explains. “Now, I have a few key points I’d want to focus on,” he opens up the briefcase he’d left lying on the table. Still rummaging through the papers, his ears register someone pushing open the door and footsteps making its way into the room.

“Ah! Here it is…” Harry trails off, looking up at the person who’d stopped dead in their tracks.

“Mr. Tomlinson! The man of the hour,” Liam cheers. “We weren’t expecting you, thought you were flying off to Berlin today.”

“It got cancelled,” Louis says in a clipped tone.

Harry eyes him warily, not really sure if he should say something. Thankfully, Liam saves him from having to come up with anything. “This is Mr. Harry Styles, he’s handling the company’s PR.”

He wasn’t a complete idiot. Harry knew what he was getting into once he saw the email addressed to him. But he’d replied anyway, saying he would personally meet with them and hit send before he could even think twice about it. Maybe, in the back of his mind, Harry was well aware of the chances of running into Louis. But he could admit that he was a fool—or foolishly hopeful to think Louis would be happy to see him.

“Oh, is he now?” Louis’s piercing cerulean eyes hold Harry in place. He strides forward over to the head of the long table and rests his hands on top of the leather chair, looking down at Harry.

Before he could utter a reply, Louis continues, extending a hand. “Louis Tomlinson, a pleasure.”

Confused, Harry stands, reaching out for a shake. Louis grips Harry’s palm, squeezing a little too tightly for people who have supposedly “just met”.

Harry feels the roughness of his palm, wonders how long it’s been since the last time he’d had Louis’s hand in his.

When the feeling was gone, Harry could only feel relief at the loss of sensation. But he missed it all the same.

Louis takes his seat, then looks over at Harry, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Well? Go on.” His eyes looking straight at Harry, but they were detached, distant. Like he was staring through Harry almost as if Louis really didn’t know who he was.

Harry clears his throat and takes a breath before continuing where he left off.

 

* * *

 

Harry wishes he could go back, so maybe he’d see when it all started to go wrong. He knows Louis wasn’t always this way, that the people in his life had made him into the person he is now. And that he was one of the reasons why this version of Louis exists.

The years after that very day he’d packed his bags, Harry had spent some time travelling to many different places all over the world. Subconsciously, it was like he was searching for something he couldn’t seem to find. It was awful, he remembers. He hadn’t wanted to leave. But Louis had told him to, and so he left.

Harry had applied to an academic travel program and did his university studies in any city he could think of, booking the next plane ticket once a semester had ended. Back then, that was what he’d told his father, that he wanted to see as much of the world as he could. It’s what he told himself all those nights he’d felt so alone, in a bed big enough for two.

When he’d finally finished up his studies, he spent another year going from place to place. Harry knew it wasn’t ideal, that he’d have to come back sooner or later. He didn’t plan on never really settling anywhere; tried to fall in love with cities that welcomed him in like a stray just wanting to be loved. But they were never the same. Their clear blue skies never quite matched the ones he’d seen waking up next to him in those early mornings once upon a time; summer heat never as warm as his smile.

It was the middle of the night when he’d gotten the call, he’d left the window open letting the warm Jamaican breeze pass through. Right then, he’d wished he would’ve left it closed. The wind marking goosebumps up his arms as he broke out in a cold sweat, listening to the voice over the phone informing him about his mother’s condition.

 

* * *


End file.
